


Show Cat

by Era_Penn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cat!Peter, Crack, Dog!Bucky, Dog!Steve, Gen, Homelessness, Self-Esteem Issues, Starvation, accidentally an animal AU, cat!Tony, ferret!Clint, ferret!Natasha, homeless, homeless animals, i'm sorry i tried, idek, mouse!Bruce, self-hate, sort of angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony was a show cat - THE show cat.</p><p>Then his person died.</p><p>Now Tony is a street cat, but somehow, he still keeps adopting strays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Cat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [multiplefandomfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/multiplefandomfan/gifts).



> I'm sorry, multiplefandomfan, I'm not entirely sure what happened to the angst fic you want. I'll try again later. Here's this for now, though... some crack... some sort-of angst...
> 
> I don't even know.

Tony purred happily under Jarvis’ fingers, half-closed eyes moving across the medals and trophies in the room - all of them best in shows for cat contests of various types. Tony was, of course, one of the handsomest, smartest, snobbiest cats in the world. “Yeah, that’s a handsome kitten,” Jarvis said, smiling a little at him. “I’ll be home for dinner.” 

Tony snorted, but allowed the petting to continue. He was no kitten, not anymore. Still, if it made the old man happy, he supposed he could deal. Jarvis was very kind, and he always got Tony the best fish and chicken meals a cat could ask for. Soon, though, Jarvis left to return to his work; maintaining and restoring old mansions and other historical landmarks. Sometimes Tony got to come along and explore cool old places, but the current mansion’s owner was allergic. Pfft.

Tony began grooming his own fur. Pitch black from nose to tail except for his unusual blue eyes and a white chest, Tony was a sleek, muscular tom. His perfectly groomed fur gleamed by the time he finished. He stood and stretched, sighing as his muscles relaxed. Elegantly trotting from the large cat room, he made his way down the hall and into the living room to his favorite spot.

Tony’s window was a small one, set high in the wall. Jarvis put a pillow up there just for him when he realized it was one of the cat’s favorite spots, and often left it cracked open when the weather was nice. Tony liked to perch up there and look down over the city below. He’d never been outside much, and never by himself. Tony was very okay with that; he had a very comfortable home, which was more than many city cats could boast, and he regularly interacted with a number of other felines, especially during shows.

His favorites were Pepper, a ginger tabby with pretty brown eyes and a sharp temper, and Rhodey, a massive gray monster who looked out for Tony at shows and things. Not nearly so much as happy, though, a brown cat who was practically Tony’s bodyguard at this point. Even better, they all lived in his building, so he often got to annoy them. (Ahem. grace them with his presence.)

Tugging a little at his red and gold collar (Tony’s a showman, Peggy, he needs the best, Jarvis was fond of saying), Tony carefully settled into his pillow, kneading the fabric until he could settle comfortably and gaze out over his domain. He curled up, tip of his tail resting over his nose, and watched as the world went by.

Today, though, something was different. Their neighborhood was a relatively quiet one, and Tony could easily recognize everyone who came and went. Usually he could even predict when. He frowned when he saw a small group of nasty-looking teenagers wandering up the street, sniggering and catcalling the women who walked past them. Tony never saw these boys in his neighborhood. 

Tony’s eyes narrowed as the teens narrowed in on the teenager who lived next door. She watched him sometimes when Jarvis had to travel and couldn’t take Tony with him, and she always had the best treats. He watched silently as she tried to walk away, anger growing. Finally, when one of the boys tried to grab her, Tony climbed on his feet and yowled. “Back off!”

The entire group turned as one to try and find the source of the shriek, and Tony saw a familiar pair of figures come tearing around the corner. Phil Coulson was one of Jarvis’ friends, and he owned two massive dogs, one gold retriever and one chocolate lab. Steve and Bucky were overly-friendly little monsters, the cat mused, and Steve was a bit too gung-ho about the rules, but at least that had their uses. Tony settled onto his pillow to watch the show.

“Tony, Tony!” Steve was barking, but came to a halt when he saw the group of boys and the cornered girl. Instantly his hackles went up. Next to him the three-legged Bucky growled low in his throat.

“Is there a problem, boys?” Phil asked pleasantly, as though he hadn’t just been chasing two large dogs without leashes that were now looking quite vicious.

The leader of the little gang looked at the dogs, and made the wise decision. “Nossir,” he said, “we were just leaving.”

Phil nodded, and watched as they made their way down the street. He turned to the girl as his dogs relaxed. Steve looked around and spotted Tony in his window. “Tony,” he said quietly, and ran across the street with Bucky.

“Cat,” Bucky greeted.

“Mutt,” Tony replied.

“Tony,” Steve said, “that was uncalled for. Why were you yowling?”

“I knew you two would be on your walk, and I figured you’d hear me,” Tony said with a shrug. “Those idiots were ruining the view.”

Bucky smothered a laugh as Steve started to glower. “Ruining the - do you even care that the girl could have been hurt?!”

Tony sniffed. “That’s a dog thing. I’m a cat. Humans love me, not the other way around.”

“You -”

“Leave it Stevie,” Bucky said, “Tony here just doesn’t want to admit he has a heart beneath all that ice.”

Tony sniffed. “As if,” he hissed. He was happy up on his perch, on his own. He didn’t need people, just Jarvis.

“Aw, Tony, don’t be like that,” a too-familiar voice drawled.

Tony’s spine stiffened, his eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” he spat, and Steve and Bucky eyed him in surprise.

“So harsh!”

“Leave before I claw your eyes out, Tiberius,” Tony hissed, his spine arching and his words turning into a low yowl.

The long-haired white and gray tom slid forward smoothly. “Is that how you treat an old -”

“If you say friend, I will laugh harder than I have ever laughed in my life. Now. Scat.”

“Problem, Tony?” Steve asked pleasantly, eyeing the other tom with distaste. He’d never heard Tony act like this to anyone; even when Steve was getting on his nerves, Tony barely batted an eye.

“No, Tiberius was just leaving.”

Tiberius took one look at the two growly labs and raised his nose haughtily. “Quite,” he said, and turned tail.

Tony huffed, good mood ruined. Phil called the labs from the other side of the road. They turned to look, and Tony jumped down from the window. 

Tiberius. Ugh. Just his name made Tony’s fur stand on end. The sleazy tom was too charming to be anything other than an absolute creep. They’d encountered each other at a few shows, and although Tiberius acted like a perfect angel onstage, he was cruel behind the curtain, to the other cats in the shows and to his people. Tony saw him reduce a kitten to tears at the poor thing’s first show, and he’d been on bad terms with the tom ever since.

* * *

Tony woke up smelling smoke, his eyes watering. He shifted to his feet, stumbling through the haze out of his room and across the hall. Jarvis lay in his bed, sound asleep. Tony jumped up on the bed. “Jarvis!” Tony yowled. “Jarvis, wake up!”

Jarvis slept. Tony nudged his chin with his nose, dug his claws into Jarvis’ arm deep enough to draw blood. 

Jarvis did not stir, and Tony flinched away. Jarvis was old - this shouldn’t be so surprising. Somehow, though, Tony never imagined losing his person. Instant panic set in - what did he do now? Tony didn’t have any other people. Not even other cats liked Tony - not even Pepper or Happy or Rhodey. Yowling, Tony settled in on Jarvis’ chest and dug in his claws.

Jarvis had to wake up - he had to wake up. Tony didn’t have anyone but Jarvis, Jarvis was the only one willing to put up with a temperamental prima donna like Tony, Jarvis had to wake up -

“Jarvis!” someone yelled from the front of the building, followed by sharp coughing. “Jarvis!” 

That sounded like Phil. Tony yowled as loudly as his could. Moments later, a blurry figure came in through the smoke-filled doorway. “Tony - Jarvis, oh my God -” Phil panicked for about a second before he reached forward to grab Tony. “Come on, nothing we can do for him now -”

Tony hissed, and, for the first time in his life, gouged his claws as deeply as possible into a person’s hand. Phil yelped in a mixture of shock and pain, dropping Tony. He beelined for Jarvis, latching onto his clothes. Much to his surprise, Phil came back to try and grab him, coughing almost constantly now. His hand was dripping blood onto the carpet.

“Come on, Tony,” Phil said, “Jarvis would never forgive me if I left you behind.”

Tony would have continued to resist, but his vision was going dark, his limbs losing strength. The smoke, he noted vaguely, and passed out.

* * *

Phil was taking too long. Steve barked, long and loud, and Bucky joined in. Lights went on up and down the street, people sticking their heads out of windows and freaking out when they was the flames growing in the back of the apartments where Jarvis and Tony lived. 

Phil went in for Jarvis, but he was taking too long. Steve and Bucky strained against their chains, but they didn’t even creak. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Phil stumbled out of the apartment, coughing.

Jarvis wasn’t with him, and Steve smelled blood. 

When Phil got closer, Steve finally recognized Tony, nearly invisible against the black of Phil’s suit. The cat was unconscious, and Steve felt a spike of worry.

And then he noticed the blood on Tony’s claws and the deep gash up Phil’s arm, and he growled. Coughing, Phil set Tony down by his dogs. “Don’t be like that,” the man ordered. “He was just trying to stay with Jarvis. His lungs couldn’t take the smoke at his age. I had to drag Tony away, I only managed it because he passed out.” 

Steve’s ire lessened, making way for worry. 

“Chill, Steve,” Bucky murmured. “You now how much stress Tony would have to be under to hurt someone. It’s not classy enough.”

Steve choked a little on a half laugh. “He’s going to be insufferable.”

“I don’t know about that. He’s going to be grieving, Stevie.”

“Yeah.” Steve licked some of the smoke and ash out of Tony’s fur, gently.

* * *

Tony woke up surrounded by warmth and fur. “Jarvis,” he whimpered, shifting, trying to get to his feet.

“Hey, Tony,” a familiar voice huffed softly.

“Bucky, what…” Tony blinked and remembered. “Oh.”

“Tony?” Bucky said, as Tony felt himself start arching up, sliding into fight or flight mode.

Tony swiped at him, leaving a thin line of red against brown fur, and Bucky backed off. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake.”

Tony looked up to see Phil, who gently extended a hand. Steve tensed beneath Tony. Probably because Tony was a monster who hurt people now, apparently. Tony spotted the white bandages on Phil’s arm. 

Phil’s fingers ran through Tony’s fur, and Tony grabbed his wrist with light paws, licking at the bandages in apology. Phil’s eyes crinkled. “Hey, it’s okay, kitten,” Phil said. 

It wasn’t, though. Tony couldn’t stay. Not after he’d hurt someone. He’d hurt Bucky, too, when the big lab just wanted to help.

That’s something Tiberius would do.

Tony stiffened and pulled away from Phil’s gentle fingers, away from Bucky and Steve’s warm fur, and shot across the floor and under the low bed. Normally Tony liked high perches, like his window. Right now, he just wanted to hide.

He heard Phil sigh, and closed his eyes as Bucky came over to poke his nose under the bed and whine. With his chest pressed to the floor and his eyes closed, Tony would be invisible. He heard Bucky move away to flop back down by Steve. 

He’d hurt Phil. Why didn’t Phil just leave him with Jarvis? Then maybe it wouldn’t hurt like this. Maybe that weird ache in his chest wouldn’t exist.

Tony tried to tell himself it was just because of the smoke. Twisting to lick the ash out of his fur, he almost believed his own lies.

* * *

Tony howled at the door, and Phil rolled over with a groan. Tony was a house cat. He’d always been a house cat. An abnormally smart one! So why, why, why wouldn’t he stop yowling at the door, all day, everyday, except when he was hiding under beds and couches? That was weird too, Tony had always been a show-off who much preferred high perches.

“FINE!” Phil said. It had been four days, and he wasn’t the only one running out of patience. His dogs were very grouchy.

Stomping to the front door, he pulled it open. Tony shot outside and under a bush. Phil groaned, leaning on the door frame. “Happy now?” he asked, grouchily. “Ready to come in and go to bed?”

Tony never responded. Phil groaned. “Yowl when you want back in,” he grumbled, and closed the door.

* * *

Tony felt bad about driving Phil, Steve, and Bucky up the wall, but he’d finally gotten outside. Now he just had to disappear.

That wouldn’t be hard. What was one more lost black cat on the city streets? A drop of water landed on Tony’s nose and he sighed. Of course it was going to rain.

* * *

Tony crouched, miserably wet, underneath a dumpster. He flinched away from a skittering sound to his right, scraping his paw. He turned to face the sound. In front of him skittered a massive rat, flanked by several others. Tony had never been a very large tom - these rats were practically mutant, they were so large. 

“This spot’s ours, cat!” the lead rat hissed. “Get! Get!”

“Yeah, get,” his cronies demanded. “Justin says get, get! Or Hammer gang’ll eat you!”

Tony slunk back out from under the dumpster back into the rain. The freezing droplets soaked his fur, turning him into a sodden, shivering lump. No less than he deserved.

“Is that - no, is that _Tony_?”

Great. Just what he needed. “Go away,” he said, and sneezed.

Tiberius smirked from his comfortable position in his person’s scratched arms. “Guess I’ll be winning all the blue ribbons now, street cat.”

Tony kept moving until Tiberius was long behind him. Finally, he found some luck - an open basement window with a broken screen. It was a squeeze, but Tony managed to slither inside. The basement was full of old boxes and dust - it wasn’t a frequently visited spot. It was cold, but it was dry. Tony shook the water from his fur and started to explore. It didn’t take him long to find a warm spot curled up under the furnace and an old, ratty blanket under one of the boxes. He managed to pull and tug it free until he could get it to his spot and create a little nest for himself. Ignoring his aching belly, Tony curled up, tail over his nose. He was well-hidden there, close to the ground.

* * *

“Mister! Hey, mister!”

Tony blinked, eyes creeping open. Three centimeters from his nose, a kitten crouched, staring at him. Tony jerked back, away from the little cat. The kitten was scrappy, a ball of floppy feet and brown fur.

“Hey, what’s your name? Did you come into get out of the rain, too? You look like a house cat, are you a house cat - did you get lost? Where -”

“Chill, kit!”

The kitten subsided, tail still twitching with excitement.

“Better. I’m Tony.”

“My name’s Peter!”

“Okay. I was a house cat, but my person died. Now I’m not.”

“Oh.” Peter looked all sad, his ears drooping a little. “I’m sorry you lost your person. Do you want to come share mine?”

“Yours?”

“Yeah, I live here! My person is a woman named Gwen, she’s very nice.”

“Nah. Do you mind if I pull up a spot here in your basement, though?” Tony asked, tensing. waiting for the kitten to say no.

“Yeah, yeah, we can play! I won’t even tell Gwen - it’ll be so much fun, like being a secret agent!”

Tony groaned internally. This kit was worse than first-time show cats. “Sure, kit.”

Peter beamed and stepped back, giving Tony a little more room.

“I gotta go, kid. Be back later.” Tony slipped across the room and out the window.

“Can I come? Pleeeassse.”

“NO.” Tony’s a jerk, but not enough of one to drag a kitten into his mess of a life. And no matter what Pepper and Rhodey said, he did not have a soft spot for kittens. Absolutely not.

He missed those two like he would miss a limb.

Trotting down the street, Tony thanks his lucky stars that he has a collar - no people will screw with him, at least. ducking off in a side alley, Tony sighed as his stomach rumbled, staring up at a dumpster.

This was not classy.

Tony was hungry.

He gathered his muscles and made a single massive leap up onto the edge of the dumpster, crinkling his nose distastefully. He braced himself, and stepped down into the murk.

Half a chicken leg later and Tony was… well, not full, but not starving either. Which was good.

And so Tony’s new life as a stray began. In the mornings, Peter woke him up to play. Tony usually humored the kitten, who seemed to adore Tony. About mid-morning, he went out to try and find food. If he failed, he went hungry for the day; if he succeeded, he had an easier time pretending everything was alright for the kid when he got back in the afternoon. Tony spent most of the rest of his time sleeping.

Tony’s fur wasn’t sleek or soft anymore; it was matted with grime that he couldn’t keep out no matter how much he groomed. His white chest was more of a brownish color now, and Tony’s search for food often brought him to blows with other cats, rats, and the occasional dog. He’d gained a few scars where other cats managed to get their claws in, but nothing too noticeable. Still, Tony knew, he’d never win another show again. His lean muscle was still tough, but he was skinnier than any cat should be, and Tony was always hungry.

Sometimes, he got really unlucky, and days went by without any food.

One such week, he met Bruce.

Tony huddled in his little nest, feeling very, very guilty. He’d snapped at Peter pretty viciously that morning, running on adrenaline and a fight with a few felines over some chicken scraps. He’d slunk away, tail between his legs, as the cats jeered. He hadn’t eaten in four days, and he was starting to lose strength - dangerous.

And then, resting on his blanket, he heard it.

Scurrying. Not a rat’s sneaky walk, but quiet, quick steps. Prey.

Mouse.

Tony slid to his feet, silently. People tried to be quiet as mice, but mice had nothing on cats. Tony crept forward. Soon enough, the tiny creature came into view, and Tony started drooling. He’d never eaten a mouse, but the other cats loved them. This mouse was bigger than the average, nibbling on crumbs in Tony’s basement.

Tony crouched , lightly letting his weight fall on his back paws, a subtle shift…

Tony pounced, easily trapping the mouse beneath his paws. The rodent, understandably, instantly began to panic. “Sorry,” Tony hissed, “but a stray’s gotta eat.”

He winced at the street-accented burr in his voice. 

Do you even care that the girl could’ve been hurt -

Tony froze. Dammit, Steve. The mouse froze as well, seemingly realizing it was close to escape.

“Whatever,” Tony grumbled after a long moment, and released the dusty gray mouse. “Not like it matters. Stay outta my place, mouse, or I’ll change my mind.”

The mouse, which had scurried over to the far corner, eyed him. “Bruce,” it squeaked. “Not mouse. Bruce.”

Brave little rodent. Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He stalked back over to his nest, curling up again. He should probably go out and look for food, but he really couldn’t be bothered.

What did it matter if he starved, anyway? He was a worthless little stray, with no friends, no future, and definitely no past. He listened to the mouse scurrying around, slowly getting closer. When he judged it to be too close to his nest, he opened an eye and glowered. The mouse backed off again.

“Tony, Tony - oh, cool, a mouse!” Peter said like a herd of wild mutts, charging. The mouse, of course, took cover in the nearest hole it could, leaving Peter to fruitlessly swipe at him with a paw. 

“You’re too loud to properly hunt, kit,” Tony grumbled, flicking his tail over his nose and watching with lazy eyes.

“Well, I’m not really hunting,” Peter complained, “I don’t need to or anything, I’m just _bored_. You’re boring.”

“Hm.”

“Tooonyyyyyy.”

“Scat, kit, I don’t have the time to deal with you today.”

Peter pouted. “Why are you so mean? You weren’t so mean before.”

Tony groaned and got on his feet. “Fine, fine. Come here.” He felt like he would fall over in a stiff breeze, ugh.

Peter pranced over, sitting next to Tony.

“Hold still. Be silent. Watch.”

Peter couldn’t help but wriggle a bit, but overall the hyperactive kit obeyed. Tony lowered himself into a crouch, weight distributed evenly on all four paws and eyes trained on Bruce’s little hole. Minutes ticked by, and Tony sent Peter a sharp glare when the kit opened his mouth to keep him silent. 

Eventually, a whiskered nose poked out. Peter wriggled and it vanished, and Tony glared again. Peter stilled.

A few more minutes passed. Whiskered nose. Peter held still this time, practically holding his breath. Bruce emerged. Slowly. A step at a time. Then all aflutter, scurrying across the floor, pausing where he’d dropped his crumbs.

Tony crept forward, perfectly silent… and…

Bruce was caught between his paws again, wriggling.

“COOL!” Peter yelped, ecstatic. “How do you move so quiet? Can you teach me?”

Tony rolled his eyes and let go of Bruce, who promptly ran straight back into hiding. “It’s all in how you distribute your weight. You’re too small and wobbly, kit.”

Peter frowned. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Fine.” Peter left up the stairs, pouting. Tony lazily circled back around into his nest, and collapsed.

“You’re going to starve to death if you stay so nice, cat,” the mouse spoke up from it’s hole.

“So what,” Tony said, flicking his tail to cover his nose. His eyes drooped, and he scratched a little at his tattered, stained collar.

When he woke up, Bruce was curled up on top of his head. Tony rolled his eyes. Whatever. The mouse could stay. Not like he could sink any lower than having a mouse on his head in the morning. 

(He didn’t think about how nice it was to have an abnormally smart … thing around. Did not. And the fact that it was the first time someone had touched him nonviolently in months had nothing to do with it, either.)

* * *

Bucky crouched low to the ground, eyeing the two ferrets in front of him warily. “You two, still the best in the biz?”

“Buck. Didn’t expect to see you around these parts again,” drawled the lanky gray.

“Can it, Clint,” the black and auburn female snapped. “What do you need, dogs.”

“I’m looking for someone. An idiot cat who’s run off somewhere.”

“Why.”

“Probably some stupid reason. For a cat he’s got some weird self-hate issues.”

“What’s he called?” Clint asked.

“Tony.”

“Black,” Natasha said. “White chest, red and gold collar. Weird blue eyes.”

“Do you know him?” Bucky demanded, on his feet in an instant. The two ferrets knew everyone, everything, in the city. They could find anything.

“Know of him,” Clint said. “Every rat gang in the city hates him, ‘specially Hammer’s crew.”

“We’ll look into it,” Natasha said, decisively.

“After this, though, we’re even. I don’t like getting in with rats,” Clint said.

Bucky nodded, the golden retriever next to him quivering a bit in excitement. “Don’t let him scare you off. He acts tough, but Tony’s one of the softest I’ve ever met, under that iron facade.”

Clint and Natasha nodded, and scurried up a drain pipe, vanishing deep into the city.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Steve asked.

Bucky closed his eyes, remembering some of his days as a stray, falling in with the HYDRA dog gangs. He vividly remembered the one cat fight he’d ever witnessed. Dogs were rough… they bit, they chewed, they beat, they brawled.

Cats were cruel. They hunted and hurt and scratched and destroyed.

“Lone cats have it pretty rough,” Bucky said, and left it at that.

Tony was tough, but he’d never had the heart to hurt anyone, even the ones hurting him.

* * *

Tony found them in a box in a side alley, wet, miserable, and crying. He’d instantly groaned to himself as a voice in the back of his head that sounded too much like Steve chided him for even considering leaving the three tiny kits in the box. They looked at him with wide eyes, the gray fur of the larger two catching lamplight as the ginger huddled down between them. 

“Well? Are you coming?” Tony demanded.

“We can’t leave Dami,” the little feline said. Tony looked closer; sure enough, the ginger was barely awake, shivering and trembling.

“Bretta and I are too small to get him out of here,” the other male said, eyes wide and desperate. 

“‘S okay, Tayou,” Dami mumbled.

Tony mentally labeled them Dummy, Butterfingers, and You, but only because he refused to get attached by actually calling them by name. With a sigh, he jumped in the box. The kittens tensed, and Tayou’s claws came out. “Chill,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. He scooped Dami up by the scruff of his neck and jumped back out of the box, trotting away. He heard the other two kittens scrambling to keep up, and slowed down slightly. He led them down alleys and around corners. By the time they got to his basement, they were stumbling, and Tony’s jaw had started to ache from carrying Dami. Pausing long enough to make sure the other two kittens saw where he went, Tony slid easily through his window and down into the basement. He no longer struggled to fit through the narrow gap. 

Making his way quickly to his nest, he deposited the half-frozen kitten there and started rubbing Dami’s fur with his nose. Dami warmed up quickly in the warmth put off by the furnace. Tony turned, moving out of the nest and poking the other two kittens back into it. “Don’t bother the mouse,” he said, and left them to their cuddle pile.

Tony still hadn’t found any food today, and now he had extra mouths to fill. Oh well, Tony thought; he’d gone without for longer before, it wouldn’t hurt him to skip another meal. 

When he got home, he gave them the chicken he’d gotten and curled up in a corner near the furnace so as not to disturb their cuddle pile.

He could handle the cold, but he wasn’t so sure he could handle touch.

* * *

Clint watched the cat in amazement. The tom was keeping three kittens fed while fighting off rats on a regular basis, without any knowledge of the streets whatsoever except what he could pick up as he went. It helped that all the ladies seemed to love him - he was certainly a charmer.

And now the tom was willingly taking in another stray, an adolescent cat with no name, no memories, and _no claws_. Being a clawless cat on the streets was a death sentence, and Tony didn’t seem to care he would need to feed yet another cat, even though he himself was slowly starving to death. He named the silver feline Jarvis. 

“How is he still alive? He’s way too nice for the streets!”

“He’s also very tough,” Natasha pointed out. “You saw him fight off Hammer’s gang of rats just like I did.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, but he just let them run off!”

Natasha nodded.

“You know I can hear you, whoever you are,” the tom said drily from his perch on a windowsill. “Why are you following me, exactly?”

Damn cats and their damn hearing, Clint thought. 

“Couple of dogs are looking for ya,” he replied, scurrying down a drainpipe to hang upside down in front of the cat’s nose.

“...Ferret,” the cat said, apparently confused. “A couple of… Oh. Oh no. Nuh-uh, no way! Why the hell would they still be looking, it’s been months!”

“Said you were a friend.”

Tony hissed and slid back against the wall, apparently not liking that. “What - why - tell them to shove off! I don’t need their help!”

Don’t need it? Clint thought, snorting. The tom definitely needed it, he just didn’t think he’d deserved the help. Seriously, he’d never encountered a cat with serious self-esteem issues before, this was new. “Oh really,” the ferret drawled. “Is that why I can count your ribs?”

“None of your damn business!”

“What will those kittens of yours do when you finally keel over, hmm?”

Tony flinched as Natasha joined Clint.

“Goodbye, ferrets,” Tony said, and ran off, probably in search of food - the perpetual problem of alley cats.

Natasha and Clint exchanged a glance. Whether Tony liked it or not, they’d taken a liking to him, and they were definitely getting Steve and Bucky to help.

* * *

Maybe he should have listened to the ferrets, Tony thought wrily. 

“Tony?” Bretta asked, voice low and wobbly. 

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“Tony, are you okay?”

“Of course. Nothing less than my best for a lovely lady.” Tony forced himself to his feet. His paws gave out beneath him and he fell, whimpering involuntarily as the deep rat bite in the front right leg ached. At least he couldn’t feel his own hunger anymore.

A warm body pressed along his - Jarvis, too big to be one of the kits - and a gentle tongue lapped at the bites. Tony shuddered. He hadn’t been touched gently in...

He heard the window slide open, and a familiar bark. “Tony, Tony!”

His kittens hissed. “No, go away,” Dami growled.

“Dami,” Tony said.

“Yeah, go away!” Tayou said, joining his brother as Bretta showed off her teeth. “Leave Tony alone!”

“Jeez, Tony,” another familiar voice said. “What did you do, get so caught up taking care of kits your forgot you need food, too?”

“Shut up and go away, Bucky,” Tony grumbled. He wasn’t worried about the kittens - Steve and Bucky would never, ever hurt kits, pups, etc.

“Make them leave, Jarvis!”

Tony heard the two dogs jaws’ drop as the silver tabby slid forward to fight. Bucky recovered first.

“Relax, we’re here to _help_. We’ve been trying to find Tony for months, stupid idiot.”

Tony sighed, feeling Bruce climb on his head.

“Seriously, Tony, you befriended _food_ in your state?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, he did, on multiple occasions.” Tony forced his eyes opened to glare at the ferrets on the dogs’ heads, which was a really amusing image, actually. 

“You - I ought to skin you!”

Clint snorted, and Tony groaned. Whatever, he decided. Steve and Bucky would take care of his kittens. He could sleep, and he didn’t have to worry about sneak attacks from rats.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept.

Tony’s eyes closed.

He just wanted to _rest_.

* * *

Phil groaned in frustration, chasing after Steve as he ran down streets and around corners. “Dammit, Steve,” he grumbled, wondering what had his dog so worked up. It wasn’t like Steve or Bucky to run off, and yet here his was, chasing the dog down the streets of the city. The dog eventually stopped outside a large building, barking and whining loudly. Whoever lived there opened the door to identify the issue and Steve promptly ran straight past her. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry - I don’t know what’s gotten into him today -” Phil groaned. 

The girl smiled. “It’s alright, sometimes pets are a little odd. I’ve got a kitten myself, and it spends an unusual amount of time in the basement.”

Phil followed Steve through the house to the stairs down to the basement, and trailed him down and across the floor to the heater, surprised to discover Bucky there as well, a wide open window explaining how the dog had gotten in.

Steve whined, licking at something on the floor. Steve moved forward to look and gasped.

 _Tony_. His dogs had found Tony!

“Oh my God, Tony!” Phil gasped, dropping to his knees to gently scoop up the emaciated cat from where his dogs, five kittens, two ferrets, and a mouse of all things were watching.

“Oh, my!” the girl said, instantly on alert. “Here, let me - I’m a vet, ironically enough -”

Phil followed her swiftly up the stairs, trailed by the odd menagerie of animals.

* * *

Tony woke up warm. 

“- should be able to recover,” an angry-sounding person grumbled. “Have to be careful about food for a while, but I treated the rest of the issues while he was out. You’re lucky to have found him alive at all, Phil.”

“I know. I didn’t find him - my dogs did.”

“Those animals of yours are too smart. Gives me the creeps.”

SHIELD, he was at the vet - that was Dr. Fury! That meant Phil found him.

Tony opened his eyes blearily, and then after an instant felt frantic panic set in. The kits, where were the kits - they wouldn’t survive by themselves on the streets -”

“TONY!” he heard, and was promptly buried in warm fur.

“Ow, ow!” he said, and instantly the fur retreated to a safer distance.

At least that answered that question.

He decided to sleep more. Maybe things would make sense when he woke up.

* * *

“Tony around?” Clint asked.

Steve raised his head from his paws, climbing out of his bed and walking to the window. “No, he still won’t come out from under the bed.”

Clint hopped down onto Steve’s head. “Maybe I’ll go pay him a visit, since Phil’s not around right now to stop me.”

“Can you blame him, after all the mischief you two cause?”

Clint grinned. “Nope.” He hopped off Steve’s head and scurried away to slip under the bed.

Steve heard some hissing and spitting that were tantamount to Tony’s unhappiness, but it fell silent soon enough, and Clint wasn’t screaming, so he was probably still alive.

* * *

Tony hissed and spit at the ferret scurrying closer with no fear. Tony was backed into a corner; to get away he’d have to go out from under the bed, out into the open.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone again, though, so he kept his claws sheathed.

Clint moved right up to him and started nuzzling Tony’s fur with his nose.

Tony, despite his best efforts, melted. He’d always been a cuddly cat, before he ran off and lived on the streets; Jarvis played and petted on a more than daily basis, and he loved piling in with a big group of cats at shows and when he got to visit with Pepper and Rhodey.

On the streets, though, touch became fear. It was rat bites in the dark and other cats’ claws in a fight for scraps. He avoided touch, all touch, as though it were the plague.

“That’s better,” Clint said.

“Mmph,” Tony replied, and followed as Clint’s nimble paws gently prodded and guided and cajoled him out from under the bed and up against a warm, furry side.

Steve! Tony tensed, ready to bolt, and Clint ran tiny paws through the fur around Tony’s ears. Tony started to relax again, and he felt Steve move one large paw to bracket Tony in before lowering his head to lean over the cat.

This wasn’t so bad, Tony thought, and let his eyes fall half closed. He didn’t think he could face being out in the open on his own yet, but hidden under Steve’s big ugly mug, he could deal.

* * *

Tony lounged in his favorite spot, a window above the door that afforded an excellent view of the comings and goings of the neighborhood - and allowed for entertaining sneak attacks when Phil got home from work. 

Tony didn’t compete in shows anymore; he still bore many scars from his months as a street cat, but he’d healed a lot. Phil had seen his kittens adopted to a rather spastic young woman named Darcy - Tony liked her. 

The sun was warm in his fur, and his belly was full, so Tony let his eyes fall closed and dozed. Let the people walking by look and admire. He was a cat, and people like cats, not the other way around.


End file.
